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"Elizabeth's dead,” he continued. “Her fledglings are dead, and the flame imps are all but extinct thanks to your abuse of them. Your empire crumbles around your ears, Cordell."
"My empire has only just begun. And you, my friend, will pay for chopping off two of my fingers and, in the process, help my quest for more power."
"Not a chance on this Earth.” Water splashed into his face, rinsing the blood from his eyes. He blinked several times.
"Who said the choice was yours?"
Metal rattled against the ground, then Cordell rolled into his line of vision and stopped. His skin was so pale it almost looked blue. His cheeks were hollow, and his lips cracked and bloody. He looked like he smelled—death on four wheels.
"As you can see, this body of mine wastes away. Your blood will empower my magic and bind one of the flame imps within. Their energy will renew and revitalize me." It would also kill him, but not soon enough. “How long have you been a vampire, Cordell?” And why was a disease still active within his body? Surely the crossover from life to death should have killed it?
"I became a vampire two years ago. It was Elizabeth who turned me, you know. We were lovers.” He grinned, revealing heavily stained teeth. He'd obviously been a heavy smoker in life. And maybe still was in death. “Surprising, huh?"
"Not really.” Elizabeth would have sensed the black magic in him and hungered for that power. The looks of the man holding that ability would not have mattered to her. And in the end, it was her insatiable need for power that had trapped her. Cordell looked disappointed, as if he'd expected more. Michael frowned. Cordell might be in his forties, but mentally, he was more like a teenager. Maybe that accident had taken a few brain cells along with his ability to walk.
"Why does your body waste away?"
Cordell raised his eyebrows. “And Elizabeth told me your were the brightest of all her fledglings. It is the magic, of course, that wastes me. All magic has its costs, but black magic draws its power from the wielder. Every time you use it, it sucks a little more from your system. I could walk once, you know."
"Even after the car accident?"
"You have done your research, haven't you?” He wheeled around to the left. Michael twisted, trying to keep him in sight. “The doctors thought I was paraplegic, but a few months after my rehabilitation ended, I began getting feeling back in my legs and toes. They said my brain had ‘rewired’ itself somehow. It took me nearly a year to regain my strength and walk, you know." The rope around Michael's left wrist felt a little looser. Though his skin was slick with blood, he kept twisting and pulling. “Then why destroy all that hard work by using black magic?" Cordell snorted. “After spending so much time in Elizabeth's company, I'm surprised you even have to ask that question."
Elizabeth hungered for power, for control, but Cordell, he suspected, hungered for a hell of a lot more than that. Utter domination and humiliation seemed more his forte. Cordell reappeared on his left side and picked up a knife lying on a table. Michael tensed and tugged harder on the ropes. Felt them give a little more. Time, he just needed more time. Cordell didn't turn his way, didn't even look at him. Chanting softly, he rolled toward the fire pit, stopping so close to the edge that the flames licked and danced across his toes. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a bony arm that was a mass of crisscrossed scars. He drew the knife across his skin, then held out his arm and let the blood drip into the fire. The flames seemed to shiver, then gradually changed color, becoming a bright, unnatural blue. Magic shimmered in the air and burned across Michael's skin. Time was the one thing he didn't have much of.
There was another knife lying on the table. He gazed at it through slightly narrowed eyes, concentrating. The knife rose and arrowed towards him, the metal blade glinting molten in the fire-warmed darkness. He glanced at his left wrist, angled the knife in the air and began slicing at the rope. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and the madman in his head began a renewed assault on his brain. His left wrist came free. He grabbed the knife and hacked at the rope holding his right wrist. He sat up and sawed at the rope holding his feet.
Then he heard a curse. Felt magic burn toward him. He didn't turn around, hacking desperately at the ropes. Sweat dripped from his chin, splashing onto the shiny black surface of the rock underneath him. It gleamed like blood. It would be his blood if he didn't hurry. The ropes snapped. He threw himself sideways off the rock and crashed to the ground with a grunt of pain. Lightning split the darkness, forking above his head. He rolled upright, keeping to the cover offered by the rock, and scrambled forward.
Legs appeared. Female legs. He glanced up quickly.
"We are sorry,” Ginger said softly and smashed a thick piece of wood down onto his skull. He blacked out and knew no more.
* * * *
Nikki came to slowly, aware at first of only the numbing coldness creeping through her body. Her head ached, but it was a distant pain, one not her own.
Michael, she thought with suddenly clarity. In trouble and in desperate need of help. She forced her eyes open. Above her, water leapt and splashed, and spray rose like steam through the darkness. She was lying half in, half out of the water, shivering strongly enough that her teeth were aching. How she'd ended up here she wasn't entirely sure. She couldn't remember anything after the pain had hit and she'd fallen over the edge.
She dragged her legs out of the water then lay there for several minutes, too cold to think let alone move. Every inch of her ached. But at least she'd appeared to have come through the fall relatively unscathed. That in itself had to be a miracle.
The flame imp dove past her, washing warmth across her skin. Color throbbed through the night, red and gold flashes that spoke of urgency. It skimmed past her again. Heat flooded her system, and her clothes began to steam. It was drying her, she realized.
Pain flashed through her brain then was gone. Michael's. Urgency began to beat through her. The knowledge that he was in serious trouble was a weight so heavy it was beginning to suffocate her. She reached out to the link, but again there was nothing but blackness. Silence. Fear rippled through her. Something had happened to him.
But as much as she wanted to hurry, she also knew it would be disastrous to move before her clothes had dried and she'd thawed out a little. Her only real hope of rescuing Michael might lie in silence, so Cordell wouldn't know she was there. Though that might be hard to achieve, given he was a vampire. Her fingers and toes began to tingle as warmth flooded back into them. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the pain. Her clothes were still damp, but they no longer dripped and, thanks to the flame imp, were at least warm.
The imp flashed past her again, its color a brighter red. She took the hint and followed it along the stream bank. The water bubbled into the silence, a cheery sound at odds with the air's heaviness. A chill crept over her—a chill that had nothing to do with any lingering iciness left in her limbs. The smell of evil fouled the night. Cordell was close.
She walked on. The water was beginning to roar again, indicating another waterfall. She hoped this one had a path near it. Another dunking was not something she wanted right now—she was only just beginning to thaw out properly.
The flame imp hesitated, flashing blue-green highlights across an arch through which the stream disappeared. The color of fear, she thought. Cordell had to be just beyond the archway.
"Stay here,” she murmured. The imp flashed gold, then darted away into the darkness. She didn't blame it. She'd have done the same thing if she could have.
Back pressed against the damp rocks, she edged around the arch. Beyond it lay a second, smaller cavern. The stream leapt into space again, and a path curved around to her left. In the center of the cavern below, strangely colored flames danced and shimmered, casting blue streaks of light across the darkness. Nearby, Michael lay spread-eagled on a stone table, arms and legs tied. He wasn't moving. Blood pooled near his head, and the left side of what remained of his black shirt seemed horribly shiny—the sort of shine that came from a lot of blood.
Fear swelled thick and fast, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. She thrust a fist into her mouth to stop her scream, then saw his chest move. One breath—all a vampire really needed. He was alive. But for how much longer was anyone's guess.
